


Sinister

by becausenobreeches (crucibulis)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4843163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucibulis/pseuds/becausenobreeches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian finds a stash of anonymous letters that inspire him to rebel against the tyrannical Inquisitor. But will doing so put him at odds with his husband, Cullen?</p><p>Written for the Cullrian Mini-Bang 2015</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to give a huge thanks to my partner jazitupart for [bringing my story to life](http://becausenobreeches.tumblr.com/image/128911488689)! Also huge thanks to the beta for this fic, mstigergun for helping me whip a very ambitious project into shape!

Dorian rushed down the stairs into the undercroft, heart pounding in his ears like a drum of war. His limbs were shaking violently, trembling in rebellion for how stupid the thing was he was about to do.

He summoned a wisp for light as he closed in on Dagna’s work table, fumbling through a couple of drawers until he sensed a familiar tingle of magic, and he grabbed at the source of it just as he heard the singing of steel.

“Who’s there?” someone barked.

Dorian instantly drew his weapon and got rid of the wisp, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness as he drew on the Fade with his staff hand and gripped the rune tightly in the other. But his heart took a steep plummet into his gut as a face came into view.

“Cullen!” he gasped, a small prayer to whoever might be listening for it to be anyone, anyone else. Not that praying had done him a lot of good lately, but maybe _just this once…_

“Dorian? What are you doing down here?” Cullen sounded just as stricken to see him, but was not quite lowering his sword, Dorian noticed with another lurch of his heart. The Commander warily descended the small flight of stairs and put them on even ground.

“I happen to work down here. What are you doing down here, I wonder…”

Cullen didn’t seem to have an answer prepared, his brow furrowing for a long moment before his eyes fell to what Dorian had in his hand, and he found his resolve. “Dorian,” he started gruffly. “I need you to give me that rune.”

“No,” Dorian answered, clutching it even tighter and putting his staff between himself and the other man, warding him away. “I can’t do that.”

Cullen glared at him harder, even as his voice became softer. “Dorian. Husband. I need you to trust me. Please hand me the rune, and come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s going on,” Dorian demanded.

Cullen shifted on his feet, only taking his eyes away from Dorian for a split second. “Maker, it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he muttered before trying again. “Dorian, I don’t want to hurt you,” he sighed, exasperated, taking a few steps closer. “But there are too many lives at stake here, and I cannot let you foil our plans–”

“And I cannot let you foil mine,” Dorian countered. “Let me pass.”

“I can’t allow you to do that–”

“I said let me _go!”_ Dorian shouted, pulling on the Fade for a spell to incapacitate Cullen, because he was too much in love for anything else, even now, when they found themselves on opposing sides of a much more dangerous game than chess.

But the Commander only flicked his wrist and an area void of magic bloomed around them, a heavy stillness that pressed at Dorian’s skin but never quite made it inside. Still, it startled Dorian enough that he wasn’t ready for when Cullen charged him, knocking him off balance. He yanked the staff right out of his hands and let it clatter on the ground.

Cullen caught him and kept him from falling. Chivalrous to the very end, Dorian thought with a bitter twist of his lips that was hardly a smile. He sneered at his husband and looked him dead in the eyes, staring him down and daring him to do something stupid.

 

* * *

 

**Three months earlier**

“Looks like rain,” Trevelyan said from the window, looking out upon the grey veil that was obstructing the usually glorious mountain view.

Dorian only glanced up from his shaving before returning to the task, trimming the crease above his chin in precise lines around his soul patch. “Hmm.”

“They say it’s good luck if it rains on your wedding,” Trevelyan supplied. “Do they have that tradition in Tevinter as well?”

“I’m fairly certain we _started_ the tradition, like many other things,” Dorian quipped. “But this is the Inquisition,” he reminded him needlessly, scrutinizing his own reflection in Trevelyan’s vanity mirror. “We don’t do _luck_. It’s divine intervention or bust.”

The Inquisitor chuckled. “I think we’ve had enough of that, thank you.”

His retort was cut short by a light knock at the door, and Dorian quickly wiped his face off with a wet towel as he craned his neck towards the stairs.

Trevelyan called for them to enter, and in shuffled Josephine, and she was indeed _shuffling_ , approaching Dorian at the vanity like a dog with its tail between its legs.

“Dorian,” she said pitifully.

“Josie,” he answered, equal parts sympathy and admonishment, as he met her eyes in the mirror.

 _“Dorian,”_ Josie said again in a drawn out whine, fretfully letting her hands ball into fists at her sides.

“Josie,” he repeated, pouring a little aftershave out of a glass bottle and then dabbing it on. “It’ll be fine. Everything will work out.” However, he turned to look at her directly when he saw her continue to mope. “Maker’s breath, don’t pout at me, woman! It’s not even your wedding!”

Josephine pouted anyway, looking out the window like the storm had called her a mean name, like it had somehow found the weakness in the diplomatic armor that was her impervious smile.

“Well,” he said, turning to check his reflection one more time for any errant shaving cream or less than perfectly applied kohl. “Personally, I think it takes some of the pressure off,” Dorian tried to reason. “Something’s gone wrong. We’ve gotten it out of the way, now.”

Josephine didn’t quite meet his eyes. “And there’s… something else,” she admitted.

Dorian fought very hard not to roll his eyes. “Will I _notice,_ if you don’t tell me?” he demanded sternly.

Looking offended, Josephine put her hand over her heart. “I should hope so! The caterer brought silver-plated cutlery instead of gold-plated cutlery!”

“Oh. Heavens,” Dorian deadpanned, while Trevelyan threw his hands up in exasperated surrender where Josephine couldn’t see. “What a tragedy. Clearly we should ruin him and everyone he ever knew.”

“That could be arranged, you know,” Trevelyan teased.

“No!” Dorian scolded. “No, no one is ruining anyone or anything. _Unless_ of course the two of you announce your engagement on my wedding day, in which case, I _will_ be setting something on fire.”

The couple shared a bashful look with each other, worryingly said _nothing,_ and then Trevelyan strode forward, stepping behind Dorian to squeeze his shoulders.

“Alright, let’s not get too worked up,” Trevelyan soothed. “Save that for the honeymoon.”

 _“Vishante kaffas,”_ Dorian swore with more affection than he intended.

“Save that for the honeymoon, too,” the Inquisitor replied wickedly, but changed the subject before Dorian could let loose any ire. “Listen, speaking of which, when you get back to Skyhold, come see me.” Another squeeze of shoulders, one that Dorian had over many years learned to interpret as Trevelyan buttering him up for something unpleasant.

“Alright?” Dorian replied warily.

“I have a special project that I’m going to need your help with.”

Dorian raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Does this special project involve setting something on fire?”

Trevelyan scoffed. “What is it with you and fire, today? _Maker…”_ he exclaimed, then held Dorian’s coat open for him to put his arms in. “Come on, let’s get you married off so your pyromaniacal tendencies can be someone else’s problem.”

 

* * *

 

Dorian knelt at the altar beside Cullen, head bowed as he strained to hear the Divine’s sermon over the thunder rattling the windows of the great hall. But, on the inside, Dorian’s heart was surprisingly… quiet.

He’d fumbled through a lot of different feelings in his life, about marriage. From seeing it as little more than a business contract, as it was with Tevinter’s elite, to trying to see it the way that certain Fereldan commoners did, with wistful smiles and stars in their eyes. Apparently for some people it was the happiest day of their life.

Perhaps it was simply because he was burnt out from all the planning and anxiety and anticipation, or perhaps it was because he’d just honestly convinced himself that being married wasn’t something he wanted or cared about. But when the day finally came, he really didn’t feel much of anything at all.

He met the occasional squeeze of Cullen’s left hand with a squeeze of his own; he didn’t dare steal a glance, not with so many people watching. But as all the flowery words about love and devotion and unity and _love_ and the Maker’s children and _love_ washed over them, he silently wondered if Cullen felt the same: that there was just something… empty about it all.

When they finally stood to say their vows, Dorian got his first chance to look at Cullen’s face. Also, how strikingly good he looked in the white version of the Inquisition dress uniform, but then there was the smile that made even Vyrantium samite look dull. Cullen looked so unadulteratedly happy, and in love, every fiber of his being just radiating with, _this is it!_

And all Dorian could think was, _this is it?_

He loved Cullen, he really did, with all his heart, and nothing was going to change that. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with him, it wasn’t that he regretted agreeing to be Cullen’s husband, but he just expected something… more… after all of the rituals and the preparations.

He recited his vows, and he meant them, but they just didn’t have quite the same weight as all the tear-filled promises in the dark, all the ragged, desperate whispers that had fallen from their lips as they made love. Nothing new, nothing earth-shattering, just him. Just Cullen. Just married.

And then it was over. Before Dorian even knew what was happening he was turning to greet the applause of a great hall teeming with people, and taking Cullen’s arm to take their first walk together as husband and husband. A squadron of Cullen’s men stood at attention at the door, sharp black dress uniforms and barely contained smiles, and they raised their sabers to make an arch for the couple to pass under on their way out the door.

Then there was a sudden swat on Dorian’s behind, and he swore as Cullen laughed beside him, but when he turned back the soldiers were still as statues, smiles a little bigger than before.

Cullen pulled him into the rain, Dorian throwing a quick barrier over both of them to protect them from the downpour as they went to have a moment alone. Laughing giddily, they ducked into the first door they could find, and then Cullen was pushing him against the inside, kissing him soundly.

“Hello, husband,” Cullen finally said when they broke apart, pressing his brow against Dorian’s and beaming at him with that puppy-love smile.

“Mmm, I could get used to that,” Dorian murmured and pulled him in for another kiss. “When do I get to get you out of this uniform?” he demanded, playfully groping under Cullen’s coat to get to the buttons of his trousers.

“Dorian!” Cullen laughed in protest, shielding himself with his hands. “We only have a few minutes before the reception.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting that I can do this,” Dorian smirked and cast a golden aura of haste, feeling the world go taut around them like a lute string about to be plucked.

Cullen’s eyes wandered, sparkling gold in the light of the magic swirling around them. Then he looked back at Dorian with a helpless gaze, the kind of look that made Dorian’s heart hurt a little for how wondrous and earnest it was. “Maker,” Cullen breathed. “I am truly the luckiest man–”

“Oh, _stop_ with your syrupy words, and consummate our marriage before I change my mind,” Dorian snapped teasingly, and Cullen chuckled and happily obliged.


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay, now hold still, like you’re posing for a painting,” Dagna instructed them, and then turned her attention to the contraption in front of her, some sort of box with a glass lens pointed at the two grooms.

“Posing for a _painting?”_ Dorian repeated in surprise, standing a little taller on reflex. He’d sat for one before, many years ago when he had first made Enchanter in Minrathous. A gift from Alexius, which was hardly a gift at all just for the torment of having to be still. Surely they didn’t have time for all _that,_ not in the middle of the reception.

“Maker, what is she up to?” Cullen muttered beside him, his tone walking a thin line between curiosity and no-nonsense irritation.

“Patience, gentlemen,” Trevelyan said from where he stood behind Dagna, flute of champagne in one hand and the other hand on his hip. “This will only take a moment, and I promise you it will be worth it. This is a new fusion of arcana and alchemy that Dagna’s recently discovered.”

“It’s totally gonna work,” the tiny dwarf assured them, rocking back and forth on her heels in excitement. “I’ve tested it on myself, and Harritt, and the Inquisitor, and it works. And it’s totally safe. As far as I know, anyway.”

“But what is ‘it’ and what does it do?” Dorian fretted, fingers twisting nervously around the newest ring, his _wedding ring._

“You’ll see,” Trevelyan and Dagna said at once.

So the couple stood as instructed, shoulder to shoulder with Cullen’s arm wrapped around Dorian’s waist. Then came a barrage of instructions from Inquisitor and arcanist both, look here, tilt your head this way, move your elbow, smile more, smile less, look like you love each other, but in a dignified way, that’s it, now hold still, very still, don’t breath, keep still, and…

Click.

“Done!” Dagna pronounced, even though it seemed as if absolutely nothing had happened. Dorian thought he had detected just a modicum of magic swirling around the strange box, but it didn’t seem to have had any effect.

“That’s it?” he asked, frozen in the now-uncomfortable pose, not quite sure he should move yet.

“I have to take it back to my lab and do some stuff to it. You’ll see,” Dagna said again.

Beside him, Cullen turned and gave Dorian a unamused look that silently said a myriad of things, including but not limited to _what the fuck is going on,_ and _she’d better not 'do some stuff’ to either of us or I will break something._

Giving him an understanding smile, Dorian put a soothing hand on Cullen’s back.

“There’s a _lot_ of people here,” Cullen grumbled, and Dorian just smiled wider and reached up to put a stray curl back in place.

“It’s called a party. I know you may not be familiar with the concept…”

“Oh I am,” Cullen replied, an edge of wickedness to his voice. “I just liked it better when the celebrations were more… intimate,” he smirked.

While they were sharing a secretive laugh about that, Trevelyan called for their attention, and led them to their table at the front of the hall. As they took their seats, Trevelyan picked up a fork and clinked it against the side of his glass, quickly getting the attention of everyone in the room. He stood beside Dorian, hand on his shoulder as he began his speech.

“First of all, on behalf of Dorian and Cullen I would like to thank you all for being here, to celebrate this day with us. It means so much to us that you could make the voyage – I know that coming to Skyhold can be a little bit of a hike,” he understated, drawing some chuckles from the crowd.

“I feel a bit gratified getting to be Dorian’s best man, after having to watch these two pine after each other for the better part of a year, before someone made a move,” Trevelyan said to more laughter. “And I will take just the tiniest bit of credit for their meeting in the first place. They’re two of my best friends, and we’ve been through a lot together, and I don’t know if I would be here today without either of them.”

Dorian just rolled his eyes at this, knowing that Trevelyan had a tendency to make everything about him. He was used to it, and didn’t expect his best friend to put that aside even for a day as momentous as this.

“I’m not sure how many of you know this story…” Trevelyan pondered aloud, making Dorian severely nervous. “…of how Dorian and Cullen actually became a couple. Early on, Cullen decided that he wanted to do things properly with Dorian. So he consulted our expert on everything court and courtship related, Josephine, and came up with a plan.

"Now mind you,” Trevelyan chuckled. “We were in the middle of a war. And getting basic necessities delivered to Skyhold was expensive enough, not to mention any frivolities. But Cullen Rutherford decided that in order to woo Dorian Pavus, he could settle for no less! Than a dozen. Yellow. Red-tipped, eternal roses. Friendship falling into love.”

Dorian turned to Cullen, meeting his eyes with fondness. His lover looked adorably bashful as the guests responded to Trevelyan’s story with a chorus of awww’s. Cullen found his hand under the table though, lacing their fingers together in an innocent secret, hiding at least a small part of themselves from the crowd.

“Now. When the roses finally arrived at the castle, it caused a huge commotion,” the Inquisitor continued. “Gossip swept through the ranks like wildfire. Who were the roses for? Who were they from? And then it got around that the flowers had been delivered to our strapping Commander, and the place nearly came off its hinges. Everyone wanted to know who the lucky girl was.”

Dorian was trying to keep from beaming; he knew how the story ended of course, everyone did. He looked out amongst the tables and caught the eye of their resident storyteller Varric, who gave him an almost _proud-looking_ wink, so he winked back.

“I remember speaking to Dorian that afternoon, listening to him gossiping on about the flowers, saying things like, 'oh it’s so wonderful that the Commander has found someone,’ and 'people will surely be writing poetry about all of this one day,’ et cetera, et cetera.”

Trevelyan’s impression of him was annoyingly accurate.

“But there was this slight… Dorian-style bitterness to his voice,” he mused. “If you didn’t know him you wouldn’t hear it probably, but I could tell he was irritated about it. Because he was _so sure_ the flowers were _not_ for him. He didn’t say as much, and I didn’t dare ask him because I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but I just knew that he was preemptively feeling rejected.

"Anyway, so the moment came, and Cullen made the long walk through the castle, all eyes on him, and wandered over to Dorian’s room. And knocked. And offered him the flowers. And told Dorian he wanted to ask permission to court him.

"And Dorian, as he relayed to me later, was just… utterly shocked, and rendered speechless for perhaps the first time ever in his life,” he said to some very knowing cackles from the members of the inner circle who knew Dorian best, Iron Bull being the loudest of all. “And when he told me the story, Dorian looked me dead in the eye, and pointed his finger at me quite threateningly! And said, emphatically, _'I did not swoon.’”_

Along with their guests, Cullen burst into laughter beside him, squinting over at Dorian, who just faked a put-out sigh and then negated it with a smirk. Cullen laughed so hard he had to wipe at the corner of his eye to brush away a tear.

“'I most _certainly_ did not swoon,’ he said, but of course no one had suggested that he _had,”_ Trevelyan teased, his hand finding Dorian’s shoulder again and squeezing it like he had before the wedding, and Dorian’s stomach flipped as he wondered what in the Void the Inquisitor was up to now.

“On a more serious note,” Trevelyan continued, and waited for the audience to calm down before proceeding, making Dorian even more nervous.

“Oh, here we go,” he muttered so only Cullen and maybe the Inquisitor could hear.

“The Inquisition was founded on the promise of peace. At first, it was just peace between the mages and templars, but I think we’ve got that covered now,” he chuckled, gesturing to the grooms. “But here at Skyhold, we have created quite the melting pot of cultures. Fereldans, Antivans, Marchers, Orlesians, Tevinters, Qunari, Tal-Vashoth, elves… dwarves… and even an Avvar or two. All living in harmony with each other. In peace.”

Dorian looked up at Trevelyan out of the corner of his eye. The sentiment was vaguely disguised, but it reminded him of words that were often on the Inquisitor’s lips these days. 'A Unified Thedas’ and 'An Inquisition Without Borders’ were the ever-prevalent mantras that guided everything they did. He admonished himself because surely the Inquisitor would never start spouting such propaganda at _his wedding._

But then again, of course he would.

“When I look around this little slice of paradise that we’ve created for ourselves here in the mountains, I just think… I wish the whole world was like this. I wish that I could share this amazing sense of unity, and friendship, and camaraderie that we have here with everyone,” he said, to a few _hear hear’s_ from the crowd.

“I wish that the whole of Thedas was the kind of place where a Tevinter Altus and a Fereldan templar could meet and fall in love, and find happiness together,” he concluded, drawing more agreement from the more vocal of their guests.

“So,” Trevelyan said, raising his flute of champagne and gesturing for everyone else to join him. “To the happy couple,” he said to Cullen and Dorian. “May you have many years together of good health, and good fortune. And may you be only the first of many couples like you.”

Dorian smiled graciously and then clinked his glass against Cullen’s. Took a sizeable swig of the champagne, swallowing it down, along with his irritation, at being used as some sort of poster child for a cause. Perhaps Cullen sensed it, because he leaned over and kissed Dorian on the temple, giving Dorian’s knee a gentle squeeze before settling back in his seat.

Dorian turned to look at him but was distracted by someone clearing their throat with a distinguishably Starkhaven accent.

Lieutenant Commander Rylen stood then for the _other_ best man speech, looking a bit uncertain as he straightened his coat and then addressed the crowd. “So who decided that I would follow the Inquisitor, eh?” he joked, and then launched into a speech that, compared to Trevelyan’s, was simply serviceable as opposed to inspiring. He spoke vaguely – to Dorian’s relief – of Kirkwall, of all the things Cullen had done there that most people had never heard. Because Cullen was humble and didn’t do good things for glory or fame, but simply because they needed to be done.

Then he launched into an embarrassing story about the couple, from when Cullen was going through his vigil to become a Seeker of Truth. It was a story that Dorian had lived through, so he didn’t have to pay attention anymore to know when to laugh. He let his mind wander a bit, and his eyes, scanning the crowd through both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Cullen’s parents were no longer living, but all of his siblings and their spouses and children were taking up one table in the front. Dorian’s parents had not come, because Dorian had conveniently misplaced their invitations at his fiance’s suggestion.

The closest thing that he had to family in attendance was Alexius, who had graciously been let out of the dungeons for the occasion and made presentable. He was seated, of all things, next to the Iron Bull, who was charged with ensuring the prisoner did not escape.  

Dorian’s heart ached at the sight of him, and it only served to remind him of the one person he _would_ have invited, would have made his best man if he’d had the choice. Felix, who was surely at the Maker’s side if anyone had ever managed to get there. Felix, who had seen him at his very worst, but somehow had still believed that Dorian deserved happiness. Almost earnestly enough that Dorian began to believe it himself.

Dorian bowed his head and allowed himself a moment of silence for his friend, and then chased that thought away with another sip of his champagne. He had Cullen now, and Trevelyan, and a host of other people he could almost call friends.

But he was having a hard time shaking Trevelyan’s speech from his mind. The way it echoed the Divine’s sermon. The way it echoed the Inquisitor’s more professional agenda. The way the guest list was filled with people that neither Cullen nor Dorian really knew, but that Josephine had insisted needed to be invited, because they were 'important allies’.

He suddenly regretted having handed over so much creative control to Josie and the Inquisitor, but then again, he didn’t really remember being given a choice. It was an Inquisition wedding, and therefore it needed to be done in grand Inquisition style.

But, he chastised himself as he stared down at the silver-plated cutlery in front of him, it was his wedding day, which meant being sad or irritated or disappointed was surely some kind of cardinal sin. So he finished off his champagne, and laughed at Rylen’s stories, and smiled at Cullen, and graciously accepted congratulations, and about two hundred reminders that rain on your wedding day meant good luck, and silently prayed that it would all just be over soon so he could get back to normal.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Dorian woke obscenely early, probably not more than three hours after midnight, to the sound of a door creaking open and hushed whispers. His eyelids and indeed his whole body felt like it had turned to lead, but he somehow managed to roll over, to see Cullen handing a sealed parchment to one of his soldiers. The whispering sounded… secretive, as opposed to just a precaution to avoid waking Dorian up. But perhaps that was simply his imagination.

Cullen’s startled look of being caught once he closed the door, disrobed, and came back to bed, was certainly _not_ Dorian’s imagination, however. “What could possibly be so important that it couldn’t wait 'til morning?” Dorian grumbled, turning back over and pulling the covers over his eyes, as if that could make it any darker.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” Cullen rasped as he settled back against the mattress.

“Well I _wasn’t_ worrying about it. But perhaps now I should,” Dorian chided over his shoulder.

 _“No,”_ Cullen replied, audibly smiling now, and scooped Dorian up in his arms with ease, spooning him from behind. “It’s our wedding night. No worrying allowed.”

“If you – uuhhh,” Dorian was cut off by his own sighing moan when Cullen began pressing kisses to the back of his neck, clearly proposing that they go for a third round. Or was it fourth at this point? And did the double orgasm from round two count as… he quickly decided the math didn’t really matter when Cullen brushed his fingers across a nipple. “If you don’t want me to worry about things, then you shouldn’t – _Maker,”_ Dorian swore breathily as those fingers began to twist. He leaned his head back and let Cullen suck on his neck, pushing his ass against the hardness that was pressed between them.

Cullen was trying to distract him with sex, but Dorian couldn’t bring himself to care with Cullen’s arms snaking around him, their legs tangling together and making him feel the most dangerous form of safe, enveloped in the kind of immobilizing cocoon a spider weaves around his prey.

Dorian melted into the caress and reached a hand around to Cullen’s ass, feeling the breath against his shoulder hitch as he found the base of a toy that had been seated there earlier. A wedding gift from Dorian himself, a wide plug made of heavy and very carefully polished hematite. Dorian teased at the base of it with one finger and delighted in the resulting groan against his skin.

So distractedly pleased with himself, Dorian didn’t notice Cullen fumbling around the pillows for their vial of oil, and thus the slicked cockhead pressing into him came as a surprise that stole the air out of his lungs. Cullen teased him with it, stretching open his entrance and then pulling out, making him feel that initial penetration over and over again until Dorian could think of nothing but the delicious pressure of it. He shuddered, gripping blunt nails into Cullen’s thigh, to brace himself against being fucked open so mind-numbingly slow.

He pushed back into him until Cullen relented and filled him properly, needing it so badly his cock was throbbing with it, but never begging so readily, not with words. They fit together easily, Cullen pressing soft kisses against the hairs on his neck as they moved as one, languidly hot, the way a well-fueled fire is in no hurry to burn.

Cullen kept them that way until they were trembling, then hauled Dorian on top of him in one strong motion that had them both moaning as Dorian sank onto him a little deeper. Cullen’s hands were all over him then, gliding over sweat-slicked skin and claiming everything they touched. His back to Cullen’s chest, Dorian got his feet under him for leverage and moved over Cullen’s cock, rolling his hips to make it good for both of them. He felt exposed, as if Cullen wanted to show him off like this to the very heavens, pushing up into him, slow but with overpowering intent.

And then it hit him. He was married to this man, now. Had married him in front of the Maker and everyone.

He was actually married.

To a man.

That he loved, and wanted.

And who loved and wanted him.

Dorian needed to see it, that hunger in his eyes that only burned for this, for him, so he twisted his head around to see Cullen’s face. Lids heavy with lust but pinched at the corners with a smug _I’ve got you right where I want you._ Lips parted, panting, wanting, reacting to every singular time Dorian took him into himself like it might be the first or the last.

Each exhalation Cullen made was emphasized by a tiny, needful grunt, reacting to the slight shift of the plug inside him and Dorian curled his lip, a little taunting as he appreciated his own handiwork. He wrapped a hand behind Cullen’s head and pulled it forward to kiss those lips, to complete their union, making little encouraging sounds into his mouth.

Cullen growled in response and that was all Dorian needed, taking himself in hand and bringing himself off with a tense, muted cry. Needing to be grounded against the force of it, he moaned his pleasure into their kiss until he had to turn away to gasp for air. Cullen nipped at his cheek, an almost needful _I’m not done with you_ and thrust hard and sobbed and spent inside him, holding Dorian to his chest as he rode through his orgasm with stuttering thrusts.

Exhausted, Dorian lay there boneless for a long while, coming back to himself with the help of his lover’s gentle touches. They didn’t say anything else after that, just cleaned up a little and then fell asleep in that same tangle of limbs.

As he drifted off, Dorian decided he could live with having a husband with secrets; after all, it meant he was granted such enjoyable side benefits.


	3. Chapter 3

Upon his return to Skyhold, Dorian sought out the Inquisitor as had been requested. He asked a few people in passing, and was directed to the gardens, and thus Dorian had to make his legs behave for a few more steps until he came to the inner courtyard, not wanting to walk with too prominent a limp.

“I know, but can you just make them… more poisoney?” he heard Trevelyan say. Walking into the sunlight, he spotted the Inquisitor in conversation with Adan, one of their resident alchemists.

Dorian smiled fondly as he noticed the rose bush nearby. It was a descendant of the bouquet of red-tipped eternals Cullen had given him so long ago, cut and planted and carefully tended to until it finally took root. That had been Cullen’s idea, although they had left the hard work to the groundskeepers. The buds were just beginning to show, so they would be blooming soon. And once they did, the blossoms would last forever, perfectly preserved, as long as they were handled with a certain amount of care.

“Inquisitor, those masks are designed to filter out _any_ poison gas,” Adan argued, the conversation completely incongruous with Dorian’s reminiscing. “They’re very effective, since your people designed them.”

Trevelyan conveyed displeasure at Adan’s surly tone, with the slightest turn of his head and the lift of an eyebrow, and Adan had the good sense to glue his eyes to the ground in apology. Inwardly, Dorian cringed in embarrassment for the man, even if the exchange was something most in the garden wouldn’t have even noticed. The Inquisitor did not abide by disrespect, and even Dorian was careful not to get too familiar with him in public.

“I am aware of this,” Trevelyan replied with a condescending calm. “But now these insurgents have gotten a hold of them and we need something better.”

Adan cleared his throat and conceded, “I’ll see what I can do.”

With that, the Inquisitor shifted back into his charming self, clapped the alchemist on the shoulder. “Good man,” he said by way of ending the conversation, and then turned to see Dorian leaning against a pillar nearby.

“Dorian! I’m almost surprised you came back!” he teased, striding forward with his hand extended in warm greeting.

Dorian took his hand and shook it, but sniffed all the same. “As tempting as that would be, I think I’m just ready for everything to get back to normal, frankly.”

“Hmph, as if anything around here is ever _normal,”_ Trevelyan scoffed, and gestured for Dorian to go back the way he came. “How was Val Royeaux?”

“It was… Val Royeaux. Honestly, we didn’t see much of the city while we were there. Pity,” Dorian said with a thinly veiled smirk.

“Understandable.”

Once in the main hall, the two of them walked side by side, and Dorian leaned in, voice barely more than a whisper. “What was all that about, with Adan?”

“Ugh…” Trevelyan shook his head low, the posture conveying disappointment or weariness. “It’s getting harder and harder to keep up with our enemies these days.”

Dorian tilted his head in surprise. “I wasn’t aware we had very many enemies left.”

“Oh, there seems to be a limitless supply,” Trevelyan sighed. “This new group that’s cropped up is particularly slippery. We don’t even have a name or know what is it they want.”

“I haven’t heard anything about this,” Dorian said with a frown.

Trevelyan held open the door leading to the undercroft, allowing Dorian to go ahead of him. “My scouts have been handling it, but it’s getting to the point where we need to involve others. And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

Trevelyan didn’t reply, just wandered into the space and called out over the roar of the waterfall. “Dagna?”

The tiny dwarf stepped from behind a table, face lighting up at the sight of the two humans. “Oh, hey! Welcome back,” she said to Dorian, who nodded in thanks.

Trevelyan quickly brought their meeting to order. “Dorian, I’d like you and Dagna to team up for a special research project.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Alright?”

“Dagna, why don’t you explain.”

She folded her hands together, eyes wandering around the room a little suspiciously. “Well, the Inquisitor and I were talking about time magic.”

“Uh huh…” Dorian responded, expression darkening in instant disapproval.

“And I’m pretty sure it would be possible to take your Haste spell and turn it into a rune,” she asserted. “The rune could be applied to any soldier’s armor, and make it so they could move out of time. That’s the theory anyway.”

Dorian just blinked at her a few times, barely containing the objection threatening to burst out of him as he turned to the Inquisitor. “And this has your support?”

“Absolutely,” Trevelyan said, folding his arms and setting his shoulders in an authoritative stance. “I think it’s a brilliant idea, and if anyone can figure it out, the two of you can.”

“Yes, I’m sure that we could,” Dorian mused non-committally. “But you do remember this is the magic that nearly tore the world apart. It’s very dangerous.”

“But as you’re so fond of pointing out, so are swords,” Trevelyan argued. “And we don’t refrain from issuing those to our soldiers, now do we?”

Dorian levelled him a look that he hoped conveyed how much he both hated and adored Trevelyan for being so clever. “I was helpfully informed that it is not exactly the same,” he said with a wry smile. “And let’s say that we _do_ figure out how to make a… a _Haste_ rune. What if our enemies get a hold of that, just like they commandeered your gas masks? What then?”

Trevelyan closed his eyes against something he was trying very hard not to show. “Well, we’re obviously buckling down on our security,” he almost muttered. “And I know that you helped to discover this magic, Dorian, but it isn’t as if no one else could. Someone else could figure this out before we do, and then where would we be?”

“Besides,” he continued before Dorian could say anything, “this isn’t even an actual weapon we’re talking about. On its own, it isn’t inherently destructive. If anything it will _save lives._ The lives of your husband’s soldiers,” Trevelyan pointed out. “Maybe even the Commander himself. Would you deprive them of that kind of advantage, just because there might be some risk involved?”

Dorian sighed, knowing that Trevelyan had him. If he wouldn’t do anything for the Inquisitor, he would certainly do anything for Cullen. “Well, I… No, I suppose I wouldn’t – But don’t say I didn’t warn you when all this blows up fantastically in our faces,” he added with as much sternness as he dare direct at Trevelyan.

“Great!” His Worship said brightly, one final clap on Dorian’s shoulder before he wandered backwards towards the door. “I want a progress report by the end of the week.”

“Great,” Dorian said under his breath, feeling weak, like a rug had just been ripped out from under him to reveal he was only standing on thin air.

Then he turned to his research partner, who looked up at him with barely-contained excitement, practically vibrating with anticipation of the unknown. Dagna pulled some kind of strange-looking instrument out of her pocket, and managed to look a little sheepish, as she held it up for Dorian to see.

“I’m gonna need some samples.”

 

* * *

 

Dorian and Dagna worked down in the undercroft well into the evening, and then had dinner brought up to Dorian’s nook in the library, where they pored over various texts and some of his old notes. It wasn’t until after midnight that Dorian said goodnight to his new partner and headed across the castle to his and Cullen’s quarters. But on his way down the hall, he quite literally ran into another of their dwarven allies, who seemed to be in quite a hurry.

“Varric?” Dorian looked him over, noting that he had Bianca and a whole pack stuffed full of supplies strapped to his back. “What are you doing out so late?”

Varric did not look happy to see him. “I’m going out on a mission with the Inquisitor. It was an emergency. We have to leave right away,” he said, and Dorian almost believed him.

Almost.

Trevelyan had a tendency to take Vivienne and the Iron Bull and Varric with him in the field these days, and so it was probable that Dorian wouldn’t have heard about the late-night departure. Still. Varric was acting…. weird.

“I know you can lie better than that, Varric,” he admonished gently.

“Ohh-kay,” the dwarf said, putting his hands up. “How about you just do me a favor, Sparkler, and pretend you didn’t see me? Tell you what. I’ll forget about all the money you owe me.”

Dorian frowned at this. Why was he acting so suspicious? Why did he seem afraid? “What’s going on? What are you up to?”

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Varric almost pleaded. “Trevelyan’s trying to pressure me into handing over Bianca so they can make replicas of her.”

“Well, everyone knows how you feel about that–”

“They do, but nobody seems to care anymore. I finally just had to tell his Inquisitorialness he could have her over my dead body, and he gave me this… funny look.”

Dorian had to laugh, because the idea of Trevelyan threatening Varric was that absurd. _“Surely_ they wouldn’t. Cullen is in charge of weapons requisitions, isn’t he? He would _never_ ask you to –”

Varric cut him off with a solemn shake of his head. “Trevelyan wants them for the scouts, which are under his direct authority. Has nothing to do with Curly.” Varric thought about it for a moment. “Although… I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows about it,” he added as an afterthought.

“There must be some kind of misunderstanding, Varric,” Dorian tried to reason. “We can talk to Trevelyan and Cullen and work it out.”

“No,” Varric declared with a finalizing gesture of his hand. “Tried talking, that didn’t work. I’m outta here.” He almost began to walk away, items jangling in his pack before he stopped and looked back at Dorian. “Listen. Go to the chapel in the garden. There’s a loose stone that’s right under Andraste’s left hand. Look underneath it, if you wanna know more. But I’ve gotta make myself scarce before anyone else sees me.”

Dorian watched Varric disappear out the door, dumbfounded. Was Trevelyan really capable of something like that? Dorian would have put it aside, except that he, too had been pressured to give up his trade secrets, hadn’t he? And he had relented.

Dorian stood there for a long time, playing back conversations, snippets of things he’d heard the Inquisitor say.

If Varric was wrong, then someone was viciously slandering his best friend. And Cullen. But if Varric was right…

He had to know. He had to see for himself. Dorian turned and headed down to the gardens, keeping to the shadows lest anyone see.

 

* * *

 

The chapel was not a part of the castle that Dorian visited often. He knew that Cullen prayed there on occasion, when there was something in particular he was seeking guidance or assurance about. However, Dorian was of the opinion the Maker and Andraste could probably hear someone pray no matter where they did it, or whether there were candles lit or not, so it didn’t really seem necessary to make a special trip.

At this late hour the garden was eerily quiet, save for the howling mountain wind seeping through the small cracks in the outer walls. Which made the creak of the chapel door that much louder, and Dorian froze at the sound of it, before peering around to see that there was no one there to be disturbed.

Only a few candles flickered weakly in front of the shrine, filling the room with the softest of lights and shrouding Andraste’s face in shadow. Dorian averted his gaze from that ominous sight and down to the floor below, under where the statue’s left hand was outstretched. Sure enough, there was a large stone tile sitting there, so Dorian knelt in front of it, and lifted it out of the way as carefully and noiselessly as he could.

Under the tile was a hole in the stone, in which was hidden a stack of mismatched papers of different colors and qualities of parchment. This was it. This must have been what Varric was wanting him to see.

He could instantly see the appeal and the danger of such a hiding place. It was a location where everyone in the castle had a right to be, but no one stayed very long. Lingering there didn’t make anyone look suspicious, though, and in a chapel people are prone to give each other privacy anyway. From the door, it would just look like you were reading from the Chant of Light, which conveniently was the contents of the page that rested on top of the pile.

 _Blessed are they who stand before_  
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.  
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  
In their blood the Maker’s will is written.  
  
\---

[second page, penned in a sloppy, uneven hand, as if the writer had just recently learned how]

_To whomever may stumble upon these papers_

_Firstly, know that you are not alone. You are not the only person that sees and despairs at what the Inquisition has become. Who has begun to question the righteousness of our cause. There are many of us, and we do intend to make things right, in due time._

_Times are treacherous, however, and so it is best that you do not know our names, or we yours. The less people aware of our plan, the better, and the less dangerous for all involved._

_But there are ways that you can help us. Passively, quietly… look for ways to undermine the Inquisition’s resources. Weapons, supplies… nothing dangerous or deadly, lest it set a trap for someone who is actually a friend. But do what you can wherever you are, and together, in numbers, we can make a difference._

_What follows are correspondence from our allies outside of Skyhold’s walls. Pages are added periodically. Men and women have risked or even lost their lives to bring you this information, and now it is up to you to do with it what you will. Honor their sacrifices with what you choose to do next. That is all we can ask of you._

\---

[third page, torn roughly at the top and bottom, a different hand than the page before]

_We believed them to just be rumors, but the truth is far worse. We recently came upon a village that was threatened by foul magic. As we observed, two Inquisitions scouts rode through their barricades and into the village on horseback. They demanded to speak to their leader. We did not hear what was said to her, but apparently when she failed to meet their demands, the scouts left just as quickly, abandoning all inhabitants and leaving them for the approaching undead._

_We ourselves rushed to the village’s defense, cutting down wave after wave of the creatures and finally finding the source of the magical disturbances, a powerful revenant nearby. With the demon dispatched, we went back to the village to offer our aid. Their leader told us that the Inquisition scouts demanded an agreement be signed, bestowing upon the Inquisition a  quarter of their annual yield in minerals, herbs and livestock in payment for 'protection’._

_We will continue to sweep through the area to ensure these people are not taken advantage of. We wear no uniforms and fly no banners. The mages with us have helped us melt our Inquisition insignias and anything else that displays the ever-watchful eye. Many such as myself, cover our faces lest our former comrades identify us. As it is, they do not know who we are, and thus label us as bandits and thieves. We will continue to watch, report, and clean up after their negligence until such time as we are instructed otherwise._

\---

[fourth page, blocky letters but hastily scribbled and barely legible]

_NONE OF THE SCOUTS CAN BE TRUSTED. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM ARE THE INQUISITOR’S PERSONAL SPIES, IN SKYHOLD AND OUT. THEY ARE PERSONALLY SELECTED AND INTERVIEWED BY TREVELYAN, THEIR LOYALTY TESTED BEFORE THEY ARE SENT OUT INTO THE FIELD._

_THERE ARE EYES AND EARS EVERYWHERE. BE CAREFUL. DON’T SPEAK AGAINST THE INQUISITOR ALOUD IF YOU CAN HELP IT._

\---

[fifth page, almost child-like letters]

_Don’t help nobles, but this one’s barely a one at all. Quizzy want her dead, enough reason to make sure she’s not. Put an arrow through an arrow, startled the scout to death, then put an arrow through the scout. Noblish one’s got her warehouses back, and we’ve got Quizzy’s stuff._

[accompanied by a doodle of an unidentifiable elf in a gas mask]

\---

[a partial sixth page, looks like it may have been written by the same hand as the third page, only much more hastily]

_This is madness. You must send us aid! An entire village was razed to the ground just because they were hiding some of our people. All we are doing is protecting innocents, and this has raised the Inquisitor’s ire?_

_We’re trying our best to stay ahead of the scouts, warning the towns further down the road. All of them will be asked to fly the Inquisition’s banner, offered protection for an outrageous price. Those who do not submit will be punished, and I do not know if we can protect them all. Have someone meet us near [name has been blotted out]_

\---

[seventh page, written in the same shaky hand as the introductory letter]

_The situation continues to worsen. Trevelyan has received numerous messages from both the Empress of Orlais and the King of Ferelden, asking that he desist. These messages were first met with the response that all actions were in the name of peace, but now the messages are being ignored and communications have broken down completely. Trevelyan seems confident that both nations are too weak to back up their protests with force._

_Despite this, he is now showing interest in a number of projects, aiming to ‘bolster our defenses’ although most of these projects are quite deadly weapons._

–--

[eight page, the child-like letters again]

_Serves him right. Messin with little people and tryin to make em littler. Shoulda seen his face. We just walked through the gas like we was the ones touched by the Maker. [Name blotted out] is covered in green stuff. Next week it’ll be covered in Red._

[accompanied by a drawing of an angry man on a horse, presumably Trevelyan]

–--

[ninth page, same hand as the introductory letter]

_Despite the Divine’s insistence that mages remain free, the Inquisitor has reinstated several Circles in secret, overseen by former First-Enchanter Vivienne. Apostates captured by the Inquisition are given the choice of surrendering and joining a “Circle”, under the pretense of training to fight for the Inquisition or supporting the cause via Formari crafts… there is at least one report, albeit unconfirmed, of a mage being made Tranquil by templars under Trevelyan’s command._

_Members of the resistance are working to free the mages from these so-called Circles, but some of them are in secret locations and more intelligence is needed…_

_\---  
_

Dorian tried to keep reading, but at some point his eyes stopped comprehending the words, so blinded was he by anger and sorrow and disbelief and fear.  His best friend was no saint, but slaughtering villages and taking advantage of peoples’ vulnerabilities behind Dorian’s back? It couldn’t be true.

But then, of course it could.

_A unified Thedas. An Inquisition without borders.  
_

_The bastard had dared to use his wedding to propagate this madness!_

His hands were shaking where they clutched the pages, so he shoved them back in their hiding place and buried them back under the stone.

But it didn’t feel right to move his hands away from the cold floor, didn’t seem right to just run away. Paralyzed for a dozen heartbeats, he finally mustered up the strength to bend forward, prostrating himself in front of the shrine to Andraste, his brow resting on his hands.

He couldn’t even bring himself to speak for all the things he needed to pray for, the thoughts swirling in his mind like moths fluttering and swirling around an unobtainable flame.

What to ask for first? Forgiveness? For letting this go on so long without even noticing? Strength? To do the right thing, now that he had? Protection? Guidance?

Forgiveness? For the fire he was going to rain down on this place when the opportune moment finally came?

Dorian knelt there until his knees were sore. He didn’t see it… barely noticed that the candles flickered back to life around him, igniting in an involuntary display of rage. With great effort against the blood rushing into his skull, he managed to utter a small, strangled prayer.

“Sweet, merciful Andraste. I swear by the flames of your pyre, I will do everything in my power to stop Trevelyan. Just please, I beg of you… keep Cullen out of all this. Please.”

A long time later, Dorian finally rose and leaned back on his heels, candles still burning bright and whipping at the air around them, and Dorian was quite sure his purpose burned so bright in his blood, he would never, ever feel the cold again.


	4. Chapter 4

Dorian wondered where in the castle he might find allies. It would be nice to benefit from having strength in numbers, but the letters were right. There seemed to be scouts everywhere and even if there weren’t, he wouldn’t have the first clue of who to ask. Excuse me, could you kindly show me to where the secret rebels are didn’t seem like a thing one could inquire in passing. And as someone perceived as being the Inquisitor’s best friend, it was very likely they wouldn’t trust him enough to tell.

Dorian sulked long and hard about that. There might be members of the resistance right under his nose, but they would be too distrustful of him to invite him to join their cause.

He had to tell _someone_ about all of it though, otherwise he was likely to spontaneously combust. And the dungeon seemed to be devoid of any eavesdroppers – or even other prisoners, as those who came before the Inquisitor for judgement did not survive the privilege, with one notable exception. So he recounted the whole thing to Alexius, while his former mentor was eating some treats snuck in from the kitchen.

Dorian sighed at the end of it, resting on his knees in his chair on the other side of the bars. “I’m just so _tired_ of being disappointed by people.”

Alexius answered this with a quiet snort, and delicately wiped the corner of his mouth with a cloth as if he were eating anywhere other than a prison, on a bedroll, on the floor.

Dorian scowled at him. “What, pray tell, is so funny?” he complained.

Alexius shook his head, smiling a little sadly. “You’re more like your father than you know.”

Flinching, Dorian scoffed. “Oh, stop. It’s hardly _my_ fault he has unreasonable expectations.”

“And you don’t?” Alexius countered, putting a damper on Dorian’s ire. “Dorian, I don’t know what to tell you… you idolized _me,”_ he said, gesturing to himself with an exaggerated shrug.

“Well you were a good man, once,” Dorian pouted, straightening in his chair, needing it to be true for the sake of his pride. “Driven mad by grief, perhaps, but –”

“No. I wasn’t…” Alexius interrupted.

Dorian just stared at him. It had been so difficult to put all of that behind him; he didn’t want to dredge it all up again. Not when he was already in such conflict about what was happening in the present.

“Do I look mad to you?” Alexius questioned, and indeed he looked perfectly stable… perfectly sane. “I’m not a good man. The Inquisitor is not a good man. And you knew that, have known it for a while.”

Dorian had no argument for that. On more than one occasion he had joked about how many people the Inquisitor had killed, how many coups he’d orchestrated from the shadows… how tightly he wound the world around his finger. He hadn’t thought it sounded encouraging at the time, but maybe…

“Your Commander?” Alexius continued, disrupting his thoughts. “Not a good man, and you’ve known _that_ for a while, too. Would you call yourself a good man? Good is relative, Dorian.”

Dorian sighed, a little weary. “Yes, I am aware that the morality of the world is made up of shades of grey. But _someone_ has to know where the line is.”

“So what are you going to do to enforce this line, then, hm?” Alexius asked, throwing up his hands. “Just… confront him? _Waltz_ up to him and challenge him to a duel?”

“… Maybe.”

“Please, Dorian,” Alexius admonished, albeit gently. “There is a reason why the sigil of House Pavus is a snake. Rushing in like a fool and doing something _brave_ and _reckless_ is not in your blood. You’ve never engaged in a fight you didn’t know you could win. You’ve never taken a side you didn’t know would be victorious.”

He knew what Alexius referred to. He had an impeccable sense of self-preservation and it had always served him well. Even when plotting against _him,_ Dorian had kept hidden. Contacting the Inquisition in secret, foiling his plans behind his back, not showing his face until it was time to finally seal Alexius’s fate.  "…Not this time,“ Dorian asserted.

Alexius made a quiet noise, one that he only made when he was truly impressed. It made a pang of regret rip through Dorian’s heart. He shouldn’t have found so much satisfaction in Alexius’s approval, when the man had fallen so far in his own eyes. "Then you are more valuable to them alive than dead, yes?”

Brows stitching together, Dorian considered this with skepticism. “So I should just bide my time? Slink around waiting for the perfect moment to strike, while more people perish?”

“Except that you are in the perfect position to keep them from perishing,” Alexius reminded him, resting back against the stone wall. “You’re closer to the Inquisitor than most people. You can garner information that would save lives. What’s stopping you from writing some letters of your own?”

“My handwriting is too recognizable, for one,” Dorian chuckled.

“Then bring the letters to me. I’ll copy them in my own hand… It’s not like I have anything better to do,” Alexius grumbled.

Dorian scoffed as he rose from his visitor’s chair. “So you’re going to help me save the world because you’re _bored?_ Well, you’ve had worse motivations, I suppose. I’m surprised you’re not offering to do it for more tiny cakes. There’s a reason, after all, why the sigil of House Alexius is the wolverine,” he jibed as he made his way toward the exit. “Because the lot of you certainly do like to eat.”

“Dorian,” Alexius called to him, stopping him in his tracks both physically and verbally. “Be careful… for both our sakes.”

It was one of those moments where Dorian had so much he wanted to say in return, that he ended up not saying anything at all.

 

* * *

 

So wrapped up in his own turmoil, his own dastardly plots, he barely even noticed two days later when he walked in on Cullen in the middle of an emotional crisis. The Commander stood there at his desk, gripping the edges of it as he stared at some report he evidently wasn’t reading. “Did you hear that Varric left?”

So they knew. Dorian silently wished his dwarven friend godspeed. “What do you mean, left?” he asked, answering a question with a question.

“He’s gone. Quit the Inquisition,” Cullen sighed. His shoulders slumped a fraction as he turned and went over to the window. He searched with those sad puppy eyes, as if he still might be able to see the dwarf out there somewhere amongst the snow and ice. “I can’t believe it. Varric was a good man.”

 _That’s why he left, you adorable fool,_ Dorian thought, but was too smart to actually say.

In the absence of any comment from Dorian, Cullen let out another sigh, the kind he did when he had something to say but hadn’t quite mustered up the nerve. “It’s odd for me to think about sometimes: I’ve known him longer than anyone else here. He knew me… _before_. He was always off with Hawke trying to set things right in the city, and what was I doing?”

“You _should_ have been recovering from a terrible ordeal,” Dorian reminded him, wandering over to the desk.

Cullen turned to face him. “I can’t let it happen again, Dorian. I don’t have any excuses this time.”

The first thing that came to Dorian’s mind was a city on fire, full of displaced Qunari and disgruntled citizens, everything so tense as to be on the edge of exploding like a keg of gaatlock. Until everything actually did explode.

“Yes, well,” Dorian replied in a disapproving tone that sounded alarmingly like his mother.  "Don’t be so bent on avoiding your past mistakes that you make new ones that are even worse. I’d rather not be a widower so young if it’s all the same.“

The Commander’s face hardened, brow furrowing as his eyes went dark. "So what would you have me do then? Stand idle while everything falls apart?” he almost growled.

 _“Nothing_ is falling apart. This is _nothing_ like Kirkwall,” Dorian argued.

Taken aback by this, Cullen just stared at him for a moment, looking wounded. “How can you say that?” he rasped, like the wind had been knocked out of his chest.

Dorian was walking on thin ice. What would happen if Cullen thought him disloyal? What if his suspicions made their way back to Trevelyan? He wasn’t at all keen on finding out. Dorian waved it off with what he hoped was a convincing laugh. “Please, Cullen, there’s not nearly enough things on fire for this to be like Kirkwall.”

“Give it time,” Cullen said gruffly, not laughing at all.

That was the end of that conversation, because one of the Inquisitor’s scouts burst in to summon Cullen to a war meeting, effectively giving him proof and the last word at the same time.

The Commander bid farewell with a smug grin, and Dorian just muttered “I hate you” and agreed to meet him for dinner.

He prayed to the Maker those words would never actually be true.

 

* * *

 

Dorian’s main method of resistance became laying a false trail. He would 'suddenly remember’ certain elements or herbs or rare, unobtainable artifacts that were supposed to be associated with time magic. Agents would then be sent to investigate, and Dorian would pretend to be absolutely devastated when they came back empty handed. He figured he should get extra credit for that; if the scouts were off on a wild goose chase, it meant they weren’t at Skyhold eavesdropping, or out in the world chasing after his invisible allies.

And that was just as well, because things were getting steadily worse all the time. People were now noticeably disappearing from Skyhold. Including Adan, who had an argument with Trevelyan right there in the undercroft while Dagna and Dorian were working, and then was never seen again. The Inquisitor was in a state of agitation nearly all the time, either over their lack of progress with the Haste rune or something that had happened with the rebels. Even Dagna, normally cheerful and optimistic about everything, seemed downright despondent these days. And that fucked with Dorian something fierce. It was his fault, after all, that they were not making progress, and if he wasn’t careful, it might be Dagna that bore the brunt of the blame.

In the meantime, he and Cullen seemed to only grow further apart. He often came back to their rooms to find the smell of burning parchment, lingering in the air along with all the unspoken and unwritten words between them to create a smoky haze. The few reports he did manage to get a glimpse of were written in some sort of code, and if the Inquisitor was taking _that_ kind of precaution with his correspondence, then that must mean someone was intercepting them. Dorian could only hope that meant something good for the good guys.

When Cullen wasn’t sneaking around on behalf of the Inquisitor, he was taking out his frustrations on his soldiers or the training dummy in his office. He was getting alarmingly adept at throwing daggers right into where the dummy’s eye socket should be, often without even looking before he threw. It was usually a skill that Cullen only honed when he was feeling frustrated and anxious about their current campaigns, and that gave Dorian pause. Was he really that wound up over some imaginary crisis, or was he planning on needing that particular maneuver some time soon?

If Cullen was anxious, he did not speak a word of it to Dorian, always burying his head in reports, barely even grunting when Dorian tried to distract him or get him to talk. Cullen still held him tight when they laid down together, and clung even tighter when they made love, strangely quiet, but fingers gripping Dorian so hard he could feel Cullen’s touch even days later.

As if being with the man himself wasn’t enough like making love to a ghost.

How was this the same man that he married? Cullen, who always seemed so gentle and kind, softened by seeing what happens when order is wielded with a hard edge. Cullen, who seemed so determined to do the right thing, now seemed blinded by his vigilance, and vigilance blinded was just… stubbornness. He seemed consumed by it, having little time or energy or attention for anything else.

Dorian didn’t dare breathe a word of his discontent to his husband, though. Perhaps if it had merely been his own life on the line, but no. He had all of those brave lights in the shadow to think about as well, and he didn’t dare say anything that would betray them, not until their deed was done.

Instead, he just acted as if everything was business as usual, keeping his ears open for any bit of news. He would leave small notes inside of the hiding place in the chapel, and was occasionally even rewarded with a response, thanking him for the information and encouraging him to stay safe.

Even though his only connection to them were the letters, Dorian found himself caring about them deeply, worrying for their safety enough to entreat Andraste while he was still on his knees. Especially their leader, who was leaving more and more correspondence in his own shaky hand, including the responses to Dorian. It seemed he was having to translate or transcribe their incoming messages from the field, and if the resistance was also having to write in code, well… Dorian didn’t want to think about what that meant for the good guys, not at all.

Dorian held onto the mysterious leader’s encouragement, however, like a lifeline. He couldn’t help but try and create a mental picture, someone handsome and yet scarred by war, someone with kind eyes but a heart of steel. Someone willing to give up everything to set things right. Once he had thought Cullen that kind of man, but now he wasn’t quite sure anymore. Sometimes he felt closer to this stranger than he did to his own husband.

 _We must all make sacrifices,_ one recent letter read. _We may find ourselves at odds with our friends, or even our own family. But do not be discouraged. Take comfort in knowing that you serve a greater purpose. Even in the darkest hours, remember that you are not alone. Remember, and I will try to do the same, knowing you are out there, somewhere._

As time went on, the man’s letters had become more… personal. Fractures turning to cracks, turning to fissures in the facade until something more human, more vulnerable, seeped through. Dorian wondered if that meant that he was feeling less hopeful about their chances, or perhaps his own words were hitting a little too close to home.

“Did you know we’re the same age?”

Dorian looked up from the small but intense barrier he was channeling, a reverse shield that would keep Dagna’s experiment from damaging anything should it choose to explode. _“What?!_ You couldn’t possibly be thirty-five!” he exclaimed, then realized it sounded like empty flattery, and decided to elaborate. “You don’t look like you could be more than twenty. But seeing as you haven’t aged a day since I met you, perhaps I’m not such a good judge when it comes to dwarves.”

Dagna chuckled at that. “Twenty was a long time ago,” she said without looking up from her work. “I’d just left Orzammar and was still slightly worried I would fall up into the sky.”

Dorian’s brows knit together. “I didn’t realize you were _from_ Orzammar. I thought…” Something very significant occurred to him in the middle of that sentence, but he soldiered through it anyway. “…you weren’t allowed to even look at the sky or you would be banished,” he said in quiet awe.

The arcanist shrugged, still focused on the rune inside the barrier. “You aren’t. I’m a surface dwarf now, I can’t go back.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I wanted to study magic. Here, hold this,” Dagna requested, handing a pair of tongs to Dorian.

_“…That badly?”_

She gave him a brief, but determined look. “Well, when everyone tells you you can’t do something, it starts to sound less like the truth and more like a challenge.”

Despite the sinking feeling in his chest, Dorian found himself letting out a hearty chuckle. “It seems we have more in common than I ever would have guessed,” he conceded. “But how did you even find out how old I was?”

“From the Commander. You can drop the barrier now.” Dagna discarded another failed rune in a bin nearby and wiped off her instruments with a well-worn rag.

The sunlight from outside was starting to fade, and the two of them seemed to silently agree to put their tools away and pick back up with it tomorrow. Another day putting up with Trevelyan and his increasingly radical behavior, in trade for another day staving off a powerful weapon falling into the man’s hands. Even if Dorian hadn’t found the letters in the chapel, he hoped he would have figured it out by now. The situation was bad, and things were getting more and more tense around Skyhold every day. Where once people had followed the Inquisitor out of devotion, it seemed now they all followed out of fear.

“I dropped off your wedding present with him earlier,” Dagna explained. “He said he would wait until you came by to open it.”

“You could have just delivered it to _me,”_ Dorian pointed out.

Another shrug. “I had something else I needed to talk to him about, anyway.”

“And he just… randomly told you how old I was?”

“Yep,” Dagna answered, with only the slightest hesitation. “It was for no reason whatsoever.”

Dorian rubbed at his chin, pondering what they could be up to. Not only the thing that involved Dorian, that was intriguing enough, but also this 'something else’ that Dagna wasn’t talking about either. “I _do_ have a birthday coming up,” he remembered aloud, solving at least one half of the puzzle.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Dagna said through a smile.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Dorian smiled back. “Well,” he sighed. “I suppose I should go see about this wedding gift, seeing as it’s the last one I’m going to be getting for a long while.”

“I guess so,” Dagna said wryly. “I hope you like it. I had so much fun making it in my spare time.”

Dorian knew if her schedule was anything like his, that spare time was a precious commodity. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble,” he offered.

“No…” she entoned, seeming lost in thought. “Honestly it was sort of nice to work on something… um…”

“Less likely to rip the Veil into tiny pieces and destroy the world?” Dorian finished for her.

Dagna pulled a face, mischief and alarm in equal measure. “I was going to say, something where I’m actually making progress, but yeah. That, too.”

“See you tomorrow,” Dorian said as he headed for the door, and the two bid an exhausted goodnight.

Cullen was sitting on the bed when Dorian came through the door, a book in his hands and a wrapped package nearby. “Oh, Dorian! Dagna brought by our wedding present.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he scolded with a smile he couldn’t contain. “Open it!”

“I was waiting for you!” Cullen laughed.

Dorian sat close to him on the bed, one arm wrapping around the Commander’s waist and nudging him impatiently with his shoulder. “Come on, let’s see.”

Cullen tore at the wrapping to reveal something that almost looked like a book, leather-bound and hinged to open into two halves. However as Cullen opened it, they saw it wasn’t a book at all. One side was lined in soft, black velvet, and the other was an image in a gilded frame, which at first, Dorian mistook for a pencil sketch. The surprise on Cullen’s face said differently though. “It’s…”

Dorian leaned in to get a better look. It was a perfect likeness of the two of them, in those crisp white uniforms they’d worn on their wedding day. When Dagna had done… _whatever_ it was that she had done. The image sat on some kind of glowing, mirror-reflective surface, and Dorian could almost _see_ the difference in depth between the two men and the soft blue background behind them, the faintest of colors shading their faces and hands. Like it was _real._ “It’s _us.”_

The two of them stared a long while, just trying to work out what they were seeing. “How…” Cullen started.

Dorian gingerly pulled the thing out of his hands to inspect it closer. “It looks like… she infused the metal with lyrium, and then… somehow burned our image on top of it… or… I don’t _know,”_ he finally had to admit. “Fascinating.”

“Dagna truly is a genius,” Cullen said. “Everyone is going to want one of these.”

“Indeed,” Dorian replied, and didn’t take his eyes off the picture for a long while. Cullen leaned into him, resting his head on Dorian’s shoulder as they sat in comfortable silence. The first they had shared in a long while. Probably since the day memorialized before them.

“That was quite a day,” Cullen said softly, though his voice seemed heavy with sadness as opposed to fondness.

“Mm,” Dorian answered, lost in thought.

“I think though, if I could do it all over again,” Cullen let out a small chuckle. “I’d just drag you away from here and elope.”

Dorian pulled away to look him in the eyes. “This may surprise you,” he warned playfully. “But… I agree.”

Cullen seemed to relax, breathing a long sigh of relief, and then the two of them shared an airy laugh. A fragile thing, too easily breakable for them to fully sound and expose it. “As fun as it was,” Cullen confessed. “The whole affair was just a bit… exhausting.”

“If Trevelyan and Josephine wanted to have a wedding so badly, they could have just had their own,” Dorian concurred.

Cullen rolled his eyes. _“Apparently_ we were practice.”

Dorian’s eyes went wide. _“No,”_ he protested, scandalized.

“Oh yes,” Cullen answered, bemused by Dorian’s reaction enough to snort about it bitterly.

Dorian cursed himself inwardly for how quick he could come to such a conclusion, but once the thought was half-formed in his mind, he had to know. “They didn’t… _pressure_ you to –”

“Oh. No, of course not, Dorian! I wanted to marry you. Very much. But it was made clear to me that things had to be… _done a certain way,”_ Cullen emphasized vaguely. “I figured, you being noble-born and all, that it was what you would have wanted anyway.”

Dorian couldn’t even shake his head for how little any of that had meant to him. “I just wanted you,” he replied with a half-hearted shrug.

Cullen snorted. “Well, you _got_ me,” he drawled.

Dorian’s face lit up at the prospect of innuendo. “That I did,” he smirked, leaning in towards his husband. “I think I’d like to _get_ you several more times before all this is over, if it’s all the same.”

“Heh, just several?” Cullen teased as he leaned in to meet Dorian’s kiss.

Dorian wished he could borrow Dagna’s contraption to capture that very moment and preserve it forever, the way Cullen gazed at him like he was the brightness of the sun itself, and then squinted his eyes closed with such reluctance. As if it were painful to look but even more painful still to look away, even for a moment.  Their mouths met with just a soft press of lips, Cullen’s bottom lip dragging across his own as they pulled away. And though it was a kiss of no particular occasion, neither bidding good morning nor good night, Dorian couldn’t shake the feeling, that somehow… one of them was saying goodbye.


	5. Chapter 5

The sight of Trevelyan overseeing the goings-on in the undercroft was never the first thing Dorian wanted to see in the morning. Unlike with most of his visits, however, that particular morning the Inquisitor seemed to radiate enthusiasm, such that Dorian had not seen in the man’s posture in longer than he could remember. Dorian made his way over to the work station, where Dagna was already hard at work on something. Something that looked scarily promising.

“Oh. Yes, this has to be it. I can feel it,” Trevelyan asserted.

“What’s going on?” Dorian inquired, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

Trevelyan spun around to greet him with what used to be a disarming smile. “Well, it seemed like we weren’t making very much progress,” he explained. “So I went and paid Alexius a visit.”

“Alexius,” Dorian repeated, mouth suddenly going dry.

“Mmhm. Dagna’s making the final adjustments now,” Trevelyan said, gesturing behind himself  excitedly.

"But Alexius _swore_ that he’d never –”

“Turns out I can be quite persuasive,” the Inquisitor shrugged, alarmingly more nonchalant than what those words implied. “Turns out, it was right under our noses the whole time.”

Dorian fought to swallow the lump in his throat without it being noticed, wanting to be as immovable as the stone around them even as he silently wished it would swallow him whole. Trevelyan reached without looking behind him and grabbed something from the table, whipping it out for Dorian to see like the worst kind of cheap magic trick. He held the flower under his nose and smiled at the scent with his eyes, mouth hidden by the blossom of yellow petals, edged with red.

“Eternal roses,” he announced. “Alexius theorized there was some magic that preserved them once they met maturity, something that held them out of time.”

Dorian’s train of thought was little more than a string of curse words, warring with each other between lamenting that Trevelyan had figured it out, and grousing that he had not. He hadn’t remembered that particular part of their research, as they had never figured out how to use it, but then again, he hadn’t been trying to remember very hard.

“Alright, it’s done,” Dagna announced, although she didn’t sound particularly happy about it.

"Bring it over here,” Trevelyan instructed her, and she carried it over to the armor-fitting station using a set of tongs. Dorian watched in horrified disbelief as the rune was applied to Trevelyan’s armor, and suddenly the man became a blur, flitting about the room almost faster than the eye could see. At one point practically shadow-stepping over to Dorian to point a finger right at his heart, before the magic began to unravel, and suddenly Trevelyan was just going at normal speed again.

He poked at the rune frustratedly. “What happened?” the Inquisitor demanded angrily. “Why did it stop?”

“It’s what I thought,” Dagna sighed. She sounded so tired. How long had she been down here?  “It’ll only work for a little bit and then burn out. I can make one more master rune with what we have, but in order for it to work consistently, I’m gonna need to refine the ingredients.”

“Well we can use the rest of Dorian’s roses for now, he won’t mind,” Trevelyan insisted. “Meanwhile, we’ll have more expedited to Skyhold. Try to have a prototype and the schematic ready by the end of the day.”

Well. Now _that_ was just uncalled for. _“All_ my roses???” Dorian croaked in objection.  

Suddenly Trevelyan went very still, as intensely still as he had been in motion just a little while ago. “You know, Dorian…” he said, and took one very commanding step forward. “If I didn’t know any better, I would suspect that you knew about this the whole time.”

Dorian smiled at him like he pitied him, and in a way he did. “I’m _sure_ I don’t know what you’re suggesting.”

“'There’s nothing I could tell you that Dorian probably hasn’t already.’ That’s what Alexius said,” Trevelyan said with another casual shrug. “Of course that was before I broke several of his fingers.”

"You _what?”_ Dorian growled through gritted teeth.

“Now, it’s not like I can _prove_ anything…” the Inquisitor said darkly, now so close to Dorian that he was made unsteady trying not to lean away. He could feel a bruise forming where Trevelyan had touched the skin above his heart, pressing it too hard against his bones. Here he was, no staff, no armor, facing down the most powerful man in the world and he was _defenseless_ and Trevelyan had so stealthily pointed it out. He didn’t even have to finish his next sentence for Dorian to comprehend the message. “But let me make myself perfectly clear. Best friend or no, if you ever keep something from me again, I will take away _everything,”_ he hissed. “Everything I ever gave you.”

Dorian forced himself to meet the Inquisitor’s gaze, to show that he was not to be intimidated. "You are _quite_ mad, you know that?” he commented, with a weak approximation of his usual bravadic smirk.

Trevelyan’s return smile was just as counterfeit, too full of malice and venom, too warped by the beginnings of a nasty sneer. “Careful, Dorian. I have my rune now,” he reminded him haughtily. “And I’m having a bit of trouble thinking of any continued use I might have for you.”

With that, the Inquisitor brushed past him, making Dorian feel more insignificant than anyone had in a very long time. It snapped him out of his disbelief, and he just stood there, brooding, formulating his next move, while Dagna worked half-heartedly at her station, never meeting his eyes.

 

Dorian rushed out of the undercroft as soon as he figured it was safe, schooling his movements with every dread-leadened step he took towards the dungeons, so as not to draw attention. He was let in without question, which made him wonder if it would be more difficult to convince the masked, faceless guards to let him out.

But he had to know. Once inside, he ran to Alexius’ cell, searching his mind for the spell that would lift the wards on the bars.

“Alexius?” he called, squinting into the darkened space, to see the prisoner lying on his small bedroll against the wall. Too still. _“…Alexius!!!”_

The wards weren’t even on the door anymore, which was a terrible sign. So Dorian just cast a haphazard frost spell on the lock and wrenched it open, falling to his knees by his former mentor’s side. He put a hand on Alexius’s chest, and waited.

“No no no no… _please,”_ Dorian begged no one in particular, as he reached into the Fade for the most powerful reviving spell he knew. He channeled it into Alexius’s chest, still chanting _'please please please’_ under his breath, but nothing happened.

Alexius was gone.

Dorian forced himself to look at the extent of the damage. One of Alexius’s hands was swollen, misshapen and covered in bruises; he also had a bad blow to the head which was probably the cause of death. It was clear from the other bruises and scrapes that he’d been beaten quite severely, and there were probably other injuries under his robes that Dorian couldn’t see. From the ambient magic in the air, it didn’t feel like Alexius had put up much of a fight, which meant nullification of some kind, which probably meant templars or a powerful mage. Trevelyan had confessed to at least part of this savagery, but frankly, Dorian didn’t want to think about who else might have been involved.

Breathing raggedly, Dorian crumpled on the ground as it overtook him, wracked with both guilt and grief. It was his fault this had happened, if he had just _cooperated_ or _openly resisted_ then no one else would have gotten hurt. If he hadn’t been so _foolish_ and so _cautious…_

Hot tears fell from his eyes as he lifted his head, the mixed emotions welling up inside him and giving him the strength for another spell. Dark magic, an incantation that lilted like smoke from a candle’s wick after the flame’s been blown out, consonants scraping the back of his throat. Nothing the southerners would approve of, but then again they wouldn’t ever have to know.

If Gereon’s soul was still close by, then a spirit might be bound and compelled to convey a message to Dorian on the other side of the Veil. It was a longshot, and not without some risk of drawing unwanted attention, but it was his last chance of hearing from Alexius before he was truly out of reach.

The spell cast true, but again there was only silence. Dorian’s whole posture sank closer to the ground, not wanting to know what that meant but knowing regardless. Alexius had willingly given himself up to death, most likely to keep from being tortured any further, or perhaps to keep from giving anything else away.

Sniffling, Dorian tried to regain his composure, tried to steel himself for what had to be done. He sat back on the cold, clammy ground, crossed his legs, and prepared himself to say goodbye.

He couldn’t even use his magic to buy himself time; he needed to save his energy until later when he was ripping apart the man that did this. Had taken the life of one of the greatest men Dorian had ever known, a man to whom he had once compared all others.

Dorian didn’t know who to compare men to any more.

“Go, Gereon. Go see your son. I probably won’t be far behind you,” he said, and then cast one more spell, one that Dorian had cast far too often for it to be as difficult as he found it now: the spell that would set the body alight with brilliant blue flames, and make it fade away without a trace.

 

Dorian futilely scrubbed tears from his face as he rose to leave the cell. Yet he knew as he ascended the long set of stairs, he would never feel free. Not until he stood up for himself and all the others, and fought back against Trevelyan to put an end to his madness or die trying.

The guards were mysteriously missing from their posts when Dorian stepped out into the yard, but he didn’t question it, didn’t have any mind left to spare. Just kept walking, one numb step at a time until he found himself at his room. He quickly threw his best set of robes over his outfit, and picked out a few other enchanted amulets and things he’d been saving for a special occasion, and put them on as well.

On the chest of drawers, Cullen had placed the picture from their wedding, shining brightly within its gilded frame. Dorian thought about packing some things… thought about taking the picture with him. Perhaps he could take the Inquisitor by surprise and then get the fuck out of there, flee Skyhold and find the allies that he knew were out there somewhere.

But it was much more likely that he would be killed in the attempt. If he happened to miraculously survive, well, he would just deal with that when he got there.

Dorian reached one finger up to the glass protecting the image, stroking Cullen’s face, before he strapped his staff to his back and rushed out to make one last visit to the undercroft.

 

* * *

 

“Dorian, I don’t want to hurt you. But there are too many lives at stake here, and I cannot let you foil our plans–”

“And I cannot let you foil mine. Let me pass.”

“I can’t allow you to do that–”

“I said let me go!”

And so, that was how Dorian found himself in his husband’s arms, glaring, defenseless, and swept off of his feet in the worst kind of way, precariously leaning there in Cullen’s immobilizing grip. He glared at Cullen something fierce, but he was fighting with himself on the inside. How could he be so stupid? Why did he ever let himself believe that what he had with Cullen was real?

Breaths heaving, Cullen’s gaze softened into something pleading. “Dorian, I _implore_ you to see reason.”

“And what reason would that be, exactly?” he growled.

“Have you _spoken_ to the Inquisitor lately?”

“Of course, I speak with him all the time–”

“Well then you must see how he has gone mad with power!” Cullen exclaimed. “He means to take over the whole bloody world, with no regard for who he tramples on in the process. He must be stopped!”

Stricken, Dorian searched Cullen’s eyes for the lie of it, some way to make his words make sense by making them false. “What?” he breathed, his voice sounding miles away from his ears.

Panting, Cullen pulled one hand away to cover Dorian’s fist, the one closed over the rune. “This time rune that he’s got you working on. Dorian, I’m sure you heard what happened to Alexius. And on top of that, I _know_ how you feel about time magic. It’s so dangerous, and in the wrong hands, this could change everything we know about war. With an army of soldiers equipped with it, Trevelyan would be unstoppable. I cannot allow it to come to pass.”

“Wait, now just hold a moment!” Dorian demanded, pulling out of Cullen’s grip just so he could _think_. Cullen allowed him to slip away, but looked entirely conflicted about doing so. “You – you mean to tell me that this _entire time_ … you’ve been _against_ the Inquisitor?”

“Perhaps not at first, no,” Cullen admitted. “But Dorian… he goes too far. In Kirkwall, I didn’t turn against Meredith until it was far too late, and I have regretted it ever since. What –” The Commander scoffed. “What kind of man would I be if I let that happen all over again, and this time on a much larger scale? Trevelyan has to be stopped _now_ before more innocent people perish. You must see that.”

Dorian was too speechless by the sudden turn of events to protest, so Cullen went on, still trying to convince him. “I love you with all my heart, and I love you enough to stop you from doing –”

Dorian rushed forward to shut him up with a kiss. He didn’t need to hear any more, he just needed the sweet relief of Cullen’s lips against his, solid and real and the most trustworthy kind of safe. Cullen resisted for only a fraction of a moment before melting against him, bringing his free arm up to wrap around Dorian’s middle. “I’m on your side,” Dorian said against his lips, and again, more emphatically, to make the words sink in. _“I’m on your side.”_

Cullen pulled back to look into his eyes, that same stricken look that Dorian had worn just a moment ago. “Andraste preserve me,” he rasped. “Truly?”

Dorian nodded, thinking quickly. How to prove it? How to explain? “I’ve been trying to undermine this rune project for months. I – I meant to use it to fight him. I found these letters, in the chapel, they –”

“You found my letters?”

Dorian openly gaped for a moment. _“Your_ letters?”

“Yes. I wrote them with my left hand, so no one would recognize my writing.”

“They –” Dorian stopped mid-sentence, took in more details, rearranged them, looked at them from a different perspective, and tried again. _“You???_ I was the one writing you back! Why didn’t you _tell_ me?!”

Cullen eyes went wide as saucers. “You were the one that told us about the Circle in the Emerald Graves,” he whispered in surprise, and Dorian found the strength to nod over how hard his heart was pounding.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dorian repeated, softer this time.

“It was too much of a risk,” Cullen shrugged. “I thought you were loyal to him, I thought…” he trailed off, eyes roaming across the floor.

“I would turn you in,” Dorian finished for him.

Cullen closed his eyes, brow furrowing with regret. “Yes. That, or even if you wouldn’t… knowing about it would put you in danger.”

“I thought the same of you.”

Cullen looked up at him, then broke into a quiet, almost hysterical chuckle. “Heh, what a pair we make, Dorian.”

There was far too much space between them at that moment, so Dorian stepped forward, pulling Cullen by the neck into another bruising kiss. “Never again,” he promised, pressing their foreheads together. “I will never distrust you, I will never forsake you, ever again. I swear it.” Another oath made in the dark, one that made the vows from their wedding day seem pale in comparison.

Cullen shifted his sword to his off-hand so he could caress Dorian’s cheek with his right. “My love, listen to me,” he said urgently. “There are many who remain loyal to what the Inquisition is supposed to be. We have been planning to overthrow Trevelyan for some time now. It happens tonight.”

 _“Tonight?”_ Dorian repeated, eyes widening.

Another chuckle from Cullen. “He threatened to kill my husband. Did you think I was just going to let him get _away_ with that?”

“How did you…” Dorian started. But there was only one person who knew about what Trevelyan had said. _“Dagna?”_

“Yes. And many others,” Cullen answered. “Rylen. Cassandra. Varric. Sera… they’re all on our side.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how many more revelations he could handle in one evening. Their list of allies was full of good people, but few were real leadership material. “And… who will be the Inquisitor once Trevelyan is overthrown?”

Cullen’s expression turned humble for some reason, hand twitching against Dorian’s face as if he had almost pulled it away to rub at his neck. “It… err, hasn’t been decided yet.”

Dorian smirked at that. “They want you to do it, don’t they?”

Cullen gave him a small smile and an affectionate roll of his eyes. “They… do, but… I haven’t – Maker’s breath, we can’t talk about that now, we have to _go.”_

“Alright,” Dorian agreed, taking Cullen’s hand. “I’m with you.” Succinct, but yet another promise, another vow. _I’m with you always, until the end of all things,_ he thought, but didn’t think they had the time for more superfluous declarations of love. _This was it,_ they were about to go and face the Inquisitor. The man who took down a would-be god and an archdemon. And who had defied death on more occasions than Dorian could count on one hand.

Cullen must have picked up on some of that, because he looked at him like his heart was bursting. “Maker’s breath, Dorian, I love you so much –”

“Oh, honestly, Commander,” Dorian cut him off, covering up the fear fluttering in his stomach with his usual sass. “Stop with the syrupiness and get on with it, before I change my mind.”

Cullen gave him one last obliging smile, and led him by the hand, through the door of the undercroft and into the darkness that lay beyond.


End file.
